"Breakfast of Champions" by Chairman Mao

Monday, May 14

Behold! Glory!

Today we feasted at the hotel breakfast buffet. It was all-you-can-eat for 68 Yuan (about $12), and I took advantage. They had a steamed dumpling that was ridiculous, and some kind of amazing bean salad with watercress. Their idea of bacon is interesting. By interesting I mean that it is a travesty to hickory-smoked swine everywhere. The taste itself wasn't bad, but it didn't live up to the true Holiest of Holies: that heavenly thick-cut, greased up, shred of pig flesh bestowed on man by the gods; that ambrosial sizzling slice of Divinity which our transient tongues have named Bacon.

     

But really. It's a breakfast buffet. All sins are forgiven under the eye of the heat lamp.

My wasn't this bad, but there's an idea.

The only thing that was truly disagreeable was the aged egg. The name still makes me shiver. You may think the name alone would cause someone to run, but not me. Had I known what the process for making aged egg is, I probably... would have still tried it. But it really was awful. It tasted like an egg -- a good start -- rolled around in salt. I'm from the South, and I regularly salt my food before tasting it. This was extreme though. It was like a sulfuric salt lick. The worst part was the shell. It was still on. I put the whole damn thing in my mouth without a care and ended up with a mouthful of salt, yolk, and crunch. This item should not be a part of anyone's balanced breakfast.

Breakfast was soon forgotten with our arrival to the Forbidden City and Tiananmen Square.  The Great Wall, this ancient city, and the Square are probably China's most iconic sites. The City's red plastered walls are much more impressive than the pictures make them out to be. But first we went to Tiananmen.

The infamous square is overlooked from the north by the Tiananmen Gate which means, "Gate of Heavenly Peace." From the south side of the gate, Chairman Mao Zedong gazes out onto the Monument to the People's Heroes, the Great Hall of the People, the Mao Zedong Mausoleum, the National Museum of China, and the rippling crowds of people which constantly occupy the square. The gate houses a small museum at the top which contains a big model of Tiananmen Square, amazing red chandeliers, videos of the Chinese military, and  -- if I could read Chinese -- what I believe were chairs where government ceremonies would take place.

It was on the south side of Tiananmen Square where I had a thought. I watched many Chinese citizens and tourists get their pictures made in front of many pictures or effigies of Mao Zedong. I guess this could be compared to someone getting their picture made with Reagan's coffin or the Declaration of Independence, but it's different. I watched videos of soldiers marching in front of the current Premier. Behind the Monument to the People's Heroes, giant horizontal screens show high definition videos of the growing agriculture, the military prowess, and the ever-expanding labor class of China. Amber waves of grain, mountain majesties, sparks from welding torches, city streets bustling, faces smiling or wearing the frown of skilled, concentrated labor. Total propaganda. Not that what the videos depicted wasn't true, but it was propaganda. My thought was about patriotism. In places like the Forbidden City and Tianmen, there's an overwhelming sense of patriotism. It's similar to the feeling one gets when looking at the Statue of Liberty. It's this palpable feeling of duty and obligation and belonging to a greater whole. It's pretty beautiful when you can take a step back and watch it.

What I didn't think about was the fact that all of it is forced. The government of the People's Republic of China expects and demands full support from the People. That's how communism works. That's why the protests in 1989 happened. And it was this thought that made me aware of the absence of history. I dare you to find any accurate history from that year within ten miles of Beijing. It's true: those with power are the authors of history. I believe it was Jacob who was saying anyone born in the past twenty years will have limited to no factual knowledge of the massacre that took place in the capitol city. That's a scary thought: 1/8 of the world's population unaware of and without access to their own history.

On a lighter note, I'm not sure if Chairman Mao or our group held the highest celebrity status. At one point, a couple of Chinese ladies asked to take a picture with me. Sure, why not? They were probably tourists too, and for all I know they never see fair-haired, blue-eyed, six foot two inches foreigners in their hometown. Then a couple more asked. Before I knew it, there was a line of ten or so. The rest of our group walked up during the photo shoot and all hell broke loose. I've decided I never want to make it in Hollywood or be on the red carpet -- I'd probably have a stroke. I should’ve charged 10 Yuan per picture per person.

From Tiananmen, we proceeded to the Forbidden City. It's interesting: the ethereal feeling I had at the Great Wall--the feeling of existing in another time -- couldn't be found in the walls of the Forbidden City. It felt ancient and almost sacred, but something about it was severely processed. Everything was very well-kept and bright with paint, which is good considering the disrepair other buildings are in. But I couldn't shake the feeling that authenticity was lost somewhere in the layers of paint. 

My favorite part was the stone garden in the back and the floor of the City itself. The whole place is huge -- it is a city, after all -- and the floor is expansive and jagged with age. Each section of the City could house a legion, and probably did at some point. The stone garden was full rocks in different formations and pavilions with jade floors and intricate dragon patterns on the ceilings. It was the kind of place the ancient royalty would go to meditate, pray, and reflect on the inadequacies of the high life they lived when the City was built. I wonder if they had their own version of the rich kid blues?
 

Later that day we went to the Temple of Heaven. Absolutely beautiful. All of the trees all lined up diagonal at sunset gave the whole place an ethereal vibe. Maybe that's the word that describes my experience in China: ethereal. Even the grit on the street doesn't seem as real or as dirty as, say, Chicago or New York. Maybe it's the jet lag. Who knows. But either way, the Temple of Heaven was as pleasant as it sounds. There were people singing and playing traditional Chinese instruments, people practicing Taiji, and a chorus led by a soprano sax player singing a song that sounded hymnic. Beat that, Central Park.

No rest for the weary though. After today's events, we rode to Tianjin -- about a two hour drive. I think. I slept most of the way. Everything is kind of a blur except the view from our rooms. Tianjin has a pretty impressive skyline, and we had front row seating. The whole city stretched out sleeping, breathing smog and taxis and 13 million souls I'll never know.
With that thought, sleep.